In Which There is Sass
by Dulcet Darling
Summary: A handful of words, that leads to banter, that leads to booze, that leads to lust, that leads to a real-live relationship. A sassy, sappy, sexy Harry/Draco one off.


Draco loved the Hogwarts grounds-he had always loved them. He'd never admit the poncey, artsy reasons that he loved them but he was more than happy to own up to the "regular," physical aspects of his enjoyment. For one thing, Draco had always had an affinity for the outdoors, contrary to his pale complexion. He always seemed to be outside as a child, not climbing trees or doing anything terribly risky—he was a Malfoy, not some heathen—but certainly avoiding his parents. The Malfoy manor was a stuffy place for a child, even one born to its pristine hallways and high expectations.

As he rounded the castle and the lake came into view, Draco noticed a young man, maybe his own age, lying on his back in the grass. Dozing, maybe. The stranger had dark hair, but that was really all that could be said of his appearance at this distance (even according to Draco's flawless eyesight.) It wasn't that Draco was really _watching_ the boy on the bank, so much as that he had noticed him and remained aware. So it was that he knew the moment that a slick tentacle inched its way out of the water in the direction of the sleeper on the bank. He was curious, and perhaps a little more concerned than he'd like to admit, when he saw that same tentacle sink back into the water without making contact—the squid didn't usually leave anything it took an interest in without at least inspecting it. When he saw the surface of the water begin to ripple and two, three, four tentacles slide from the lake, he called out in an attempt to wake its hapless victim.

"Hey! You! Look sharp!"

Harry looked up, startled from his nap, at the call of an unfamiliar voice. It was not the source of the voice, however, that caught his attention when he looked up. A large, blurry... thing was coming toward him across the grass and it did not seem to have any qualms about entering his personal space and shoving its wet limbs into his face. Stopping himself from calling out, Harry felt around on the grass, looking desperately for his glasses. When he found them, he thrust them unceremoniously onto his face (askew) and scrambled back from the edge of the water. The squid was already sinking back into the lake, evidently bored upon realizing that he was just another student and nothing more interesting. When he'd caught his breath, Harry looked up to see who, exactly, had just been courteous enough to wake him up.

"Oh," was all he managed to get out to begin with. Harry's brief second glance upward told him, at first, only that the his strange saviour was around his own age and also devilishly handsome. (Not that he was attractive. Of course not. Harry merely acknowledged his good looks in the way that he would acknowledge a member of the opposing team was good at Quidditch. Observation, nothing more.) The third glance told him that it was Draco Malfoy, which made his initial assessment even more disturbing. Malfoy looked... different; certainly older than he had before the war. Not older and greasier, like his father, but older and softer. His hair was loose, Harry realized—that was why it had taken him the extra second to recognize his old nemesis. "Ah. Hey, Malfoy."

Draco grinned at the friendly (well, not aggressive) tone of Harry's voice, an expression which caused the Gryffindor to raise his eyebrows. They hadn't been openly at odds at all this year—they had, in fact, barely seen one another—but Harry hadn't realized that Draco thought this made them friends.

"Hey, Potter," Draco said, by way of his own introduction, as he lowered himself to the grass next to Harry. He had apparently taken that greeting as an invitation to stay. There was an awkward pause where neither of them said anything and then Draco opened his mouth and said something that Harry had no idea how to take. "By the way, I'm gay." It wasn't a lie, but it was also kind of meant to be a joke. Draco has no idea how to break the ice with Potter and that newly discovered part of him seemed like a good place to start if they were going to start out fresh the way Draco wanted to. It struck him suddenly that Harry had no idea why Draco was even talking to him, and that he'd likely find the statement more uncomfortable than amusing and he hurried to explain himself. "I'm just letting you know now because you're going to figure it out eventually. So if it's a problem for you, let me know and I'll be on my way."

Harry still had no idea how to respond. So, of course, he said:

"Do you really think that your sexuality, of all things, would be my biggest problem with you?"

Good. Coherent response. Decent response, considering how entirely taken aback Harry had been. First of all, there was the internal conflict that he himself was working through even as the word "gay" passed Draco's lips. How on earth could he hear something like that and not immediately think of his own inner turmoil? Although able to push out a low chuckle to show that he didn't _really_ mean that he had a problem with Draco, he was thrown off by the blunt revelation. For a moment he panicked, wondered if Draco saw something about him that other people couldn't—if his highly focused gaydar was picking up on all the thoughts that Harry had ever had to contradict his purported heterosexuality. Then he took a deep breath and calmed the hell down.

"Not at all," Harry tried to smile. "I mean, I'm not. But it's certainly not a problem for me." He shook his head for emphasis and Draco visibly relaxed.

"I didn't think you were, Potter. The whole world would know if that were the case. Besides, I'm forever doomed to meet good-looking, intensely straight blokes. C'est la vie."

Harry coloured a little at this assessment, but kept his eyes up. He allowed them to range over Draco's face, taking in his heavy tone and newly grownup features. Harry had always thought of the Slytherin as slightly effeminate but up close, at least now, he realized that wasn't the case—Draco looked like any other (extremely good-looking) guy. "I find I'm about to say something potentially inappropriate... but here I go. You don't actually... seem gay."

Draco put his head on one side. He did that a lot—like the world would somehow make sense if only he rotated it ninety degrees. "Being gay doesn't mean I have to look or act like a pouf. Hell. I'm still a guy, Potter. I just get hot for other guys." Draco wasn't offended, but he sounded firm. Like he was daring Harry to argue, or to change his mind and call him a pansy. He didn't, of course; Harry just looked at him curiously.

**o**

"Remember what I said about getting hot for other guys?" Draco leaned so close to Harry that he was sure the other boy would smell the firewhiskey on his breath. "I am _extremely_ hot for you right now."

Harry looked uneasy and he fondled the fraying knee of his jeans distractedly before glancing back up at Draco's eyes. "I don't... I told you, Malfoy. I'm not gay."

Draco leaned back and raised an eyebrow dramatically, his mouth half-open in mock surprise. He wasn't smiling—yet—but Harry thought he could see the beginnings of a condescending smirk as Malfoy's mouth turned up ever so slightly at one side. He placed the bottle on the floor and chuckled darkly.

"I'm not saying you're going to have to marry me or any of that horse shit. Just let me kiss you."

Now Harry really was uncomfortable; in large part because Draco was coming on really strong (and using language he'd never imagined he'd hear from a Malfoy) and the pressure made something in him want to rebel. However, a smaller part was simply uncomfortable because he didn't know how he'd ever recover from locking lips with this guy. Draco, for his part, didn't give Harry a chance to protest—since he was being so quiet anyway. He simply seized the moment and closed the distance between them with a half-smile still on his face. As a result, the first thing to gently nudge Harry's lower lip was the edge of Draco's top row of front teeth. From there it was a slow slide into a deeper kiss as the blond boy's hand rose to clasp the back of Harry's neck. There was a small intake of breath at the first contact and then Harry, even drinking as little as he had, simply decided to fuck his inhibitions and leaned into the kiss. He didn't realize quite how enthusiastic he was becoming until he attempted to move closer to Draco and found that he no longer could. He had already leaned so far forward that they were almost chest to chest, one of Harry's hands splayed across the other man's chest and the other hand gathered in the fabric of the shirt on his back. Draco honestly didn't know what to do from there—anyway, he was drunk and what business was it of his to end something this satisfying? Harry drew back to breathe, Draco's hand still resting on his neck and met Malfoy's eyes with a shocked, if vacant, expression. He seemed extremely confused.

Draco relished the feeling of Harry's hands on him through his drunken haze and he grinned triumphantly, looking like a (devilishly handsome) moron. When he noticed Harry's own expression, he laughed a little, moving the hand by his shoulder down to rest by its partner on the Gryffindor's hips.

"You're hot, Potter," Draco told him matter-of-factly. "And very, very gay."

Harry bridled, taking offense to Draco's tone. His eyes narrowed, but still he could not bring himself to remove his hands. Draco was such an arrogant, self-important prick. It wasn't that he'd said out loud something that Harry himself already suspected (okay, maybe a little.) It was that he'd said it with that conviction he always had, that unshakable belief that he was always, ALWAYS right.

Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist, drawing closer and burying himself in the front of Draco's shirt.

"Whoa," Draco started. "I don't do cuddling. We haven't even had sex." Although, as he said it he laughed and folded Harry in a tight embrace.

"How were you planning to kiss me again if I'm not allowed to do this?" Harry asked, glancing up at Draco's face. He didn't understand why he was so enthusiastically providing evidence of his homosexuality, but he liked Draco well enough (right now) and that had been... well, fantastic.

Draco cocked an eyebrow and bent his head to press his smiling lips to Harry's neck.

"I was _planning_, Harry Potter, to do what I did earlier," he laughed. "Use my abundant charm and stunning good looks to simply take what I want." Draco paused and added, as if to clarify: "You." His hands moved to Harry's lower back and he caught the other boy's lips in a kiss again. When he drew away, Draco rested his chin on Harry's head.

"Technically, that worked because we're cuddling."

Draco laughed.

**o**

"Come here."

Harry regarded Draco skeptically, hands in pockets, from where he stood. "Really, Draco?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, head tilted in that trademark expression.

"Fuck yeah, really." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the space between his legs. It looked mildly inappropriate, but he was merely attempting to convince his boyfriend to sit with him the way they always did. For some reason, Harry was being difficult today.

"In public."

Draco glared. "This does not count as public. We're the only ones here. Stop being a pansy."

"Charming, as always." Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Stop the eye-rolling, it makes you look gay. Now sit."

"You know what'll make me look gayer? Sitting between your legs."

If Draco hadn't just denounced that very action, he would have rolled his own eyes.

"You are absolutely killing the moment. Over-killing it. Like, 'casting-avada-kadavra-repeatedly-on-a-corpse' over-killing it."

Harry laughed and finally surrendered, dropping his bag on the ground next to Draco before settling himself in the requested spot. He leaned back so that he lay against Draco's chest, head on shoulder, and smiled.

"You are hilarious, you know that?"

"Well you make me fucking try, don't you?"

**o**

"Kiss me."

"Since when did you start asking?"

"Never. I'm not asking, I'm telling."

"You know what I mean. You usually just do it."

"Yeah, Harry. I want _you_ to kiss _me_. Just once."

"Don't be ridiculous. I must have kissed you before."

"Never."

"That's absurd."

"Name one occasion."

Silence.

"See?"

"Fine, Draco."

Harry leaned forward to peck his mouth.

"There."

"That did _not_ count."

Draco glared at him, feeling dejected. This had suddenly become important, an accurate representation of their relationship. Harry glanced over at him and sighed exasperatedly.

"Come on, Draco! Don't pout."

"I'm not fucking pouting."

Harry slid down the bench, sitting hip-to-hip with his boyfriend. He leaned out in front until their faces were inches apart.

Draco still refused to look up, but a smile flicked across his mouth.

The distance between them disappeared as Harry pressed his lips gently to Draco's, steadily increasing pressure, deepening the kiss by degrees. When Draco opened his mouth, Harry's tongue snaked in and he slid a hand around the Slytherin's waist. Draco's own hands ranged up Harry's stomach, over his chest to rest on his shoulders and he drew back to accommodate his perpetual grin before allowing Harry to kiss him once more.

When they finally drew apart, Draco's breathing was shallow.

"There, you fucker. Was that so hard?"

**o**

Draco re-entered the room with his hands full of liquor. The bottles clattered to the table and Harry looked up from his book at the distraction.

"Stop pretending like you're reading. I invite you here to get you properly drunk and you bring a goddamn textbook."

Harry stood, hooking his fingers through the belt-loops of Draco's pants with a grin. He used his hold to pull them closer at the hips and kiss his boyfriend.

"I've had more than enough to make the letters swim."

"Good, then dance with me."

"There's no music."

"Fuck you and your details." Draco broke from Harry's grip briefly to flick his wand—a not-quite-slow-but-not-fast-enough tune that Harry had never heard warbled through the air. He was back momentarily with his arms around Harry's waist, kissing his mouth again enthusiastically. When he pulled back, Harry's face followed his for half a second.

"I'm okay with just doing that," the dark-haired boy muttered against his neck. "I don't need to dance."

"Yes you do. Because I want to. And you're my fucking boyfriend, god damnit." Draco had already begun a hard and inappropriate grind against Harry as the other boy stood there passively. He pulled Harry's arms up to his shoulders in the traditional awkward-high-school-dance position.

"You're a pest."

"Don't care. Dance."

Harry's hips finally—finally!—began to move in time with Draco's until they were swaying together, his head tucked against Draco's chest. Draco's thumbs slid into the waistband on Harry's pants, tracing lazy circles on the soft skin of his hip bones. Harry moaned quietly into Draco's neck and his hips canted forward.

"Oh! Merlin." Draco's muttering was quickly stifled as he fixed his mouth to Harry's neck, sucking gently. When Harry bent his head back to offer Draco more room, the blond boy responded by sliding his hands to the front of his boyfriend's jeans. He hovered hesitantly over the buttons before kissing Harry's mouth roughly and beginning the attempt at undoing them. Harry's hands found the zipper frantically and once his own pants were undone, he went straight for Draco's.

"Hey. Hey! Calm down!" Draco laughed, pulling at his own trousers when Harry found them equally as foreign.

"You're the one that was grinding on me," Harry pointed out, pulling Draco's shirt off over his head. "And can I help it if you're hot?"

Draco paused halfway to pulling off Harry's shirt.

"Shit. Say that again."

"What? You're hot? You narcissistic gi—" Harry was cut off by hot lips pressed over his, Draco's tongue thoroughly invading his mouth as he adeptly hitched Harry's shirt most of the way up blind. When they were both naked from the waist up, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and paused momentarily with his chin resting on the Gryffindor's head.

"_You_ are hot. Especially when you talk."

"Well, that's new; and also odd, considering I typically find you exponentially more attractive when you're not talking."

"Fuck you."

"Gladly."

Draco groaned and Harry sunk to his knees on the floor in front of him, yanking his pants down. Draco's hands tangled in Harry's hair as the younger man pulled his boxers down, too. In the split second before he was hit by a wave of lust, Draco thought he would never see anything hotter than Harry kneeling between his legs, shirtless, pants undone. And then his dick was in Harry's mouth and thoughts didn't matter so much.

"Shit!"

**o**

Draco's half-closed eyes registered blurry shapes. And a bright, bright light. That was all. His entire body tensed in a stiff stretch and he made as if to move his arms—which was when he realized that they were wrapped around someone else. The arm pressed against the mattress was resting under Harry's pillow; the other arm was slung over his waist.

At his fluttering movements, Harry groaned and rolled over. Draco leaned in to kiss him, pausing with their foreheads still touching.

"Good morning," he whispered. "You look excellent with morning-after hair. Although it's not really much different from the norm."

Harry groaned and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, burying his face in the blond's neck. Some barely audible mumbling issued from the general direction of his mouth.

"What was that?"

Harry shifted so his face was just far enough away from his boyfriend's skin to allow him to speak.

"I'm tired."

"Go back to sleep, I didn't even mean to wake you up."

"I can't, it's already light out."

"Yeah. That happens in the summer. It's seven AM. Sleep."

Harry ceased arguing (probably from shock) and curled against the warmth that was Draco before dozing off once more. For his part, Draco was scant moments behind.


End file.
